White Star (22 page)

Archer shifted slightly away from the window as Reader slipped the hook under his belt, letting the rope trail behind. Reader moved past him and out the window, his arms reaching above, searching for a handhold.

Evelyn looked away, tucking her face under Orrin’s chin.

“He’ll be fine,” Orrin whispered, his lips at her ear. She nodded, trying to believe, and when she looked up again, Reader’s foot was dangling in the window.

Archer fed out the rope, making sure it didn’t catch on anything. The long strand wove back and forth as they sat in silence, and waited.

Evelyn closed her eyes and wet her lips, forming a silent prayer.
Please, Lord of Light, keep him—

“He’s in.” Archer grabbed the rope, and tied Reader’s pack to it. The pack flew out the window as the rope was pulled up. Archer kept the end tight in one hand.

“Mage,” Orrin ordered.

The young man gulped, but he grabbed Archer’s hand and climbed up into the casement. Evelyn saw the determination in his shoulders as he grabbed the rope and started to climb. The rope twisted about as he disappeared from view.

Sidian was removing his armor from his broad shoulders, revealing the scarring that covered his chest in swirling patterns. They seemed to move over his skin as his muscles flexed.

“Timothy.” Orrin pointed to him.

Timothy sighed, and climbed up to the window. Archer took his long spear as Timothy grabbed the rope and started up, using both hands and feet. He was much slower than the others, but eventually his feet disappeared from view.

Thomas followed his brother as soon as Archer had handed up the first of the spears.

Orrin stood, setting Evelyn on her feet. “You’re next,” he said, as he pulled his sword.

Evelyn nodded, and climbed up to stand opposite Sidian. He had a jar of grease in his hands, and was using a scrap of cloth to smear it over his arms and chest.

Evelyn looked at the window, then back at Sidian. He caught her look, and shrugged. “I’ll fit,” he whispered, his white teeth gleaming against black skin. “Might get scraped up, but I’ll squirm through.”

Evelyn nodded, and reached for a handhold to pull herself up into the window. Archer was kneeling in the window, reaching up, his arm extended to pass up the last spear. Without thinking, she brushed into Archer as she pulled herself up.

Archer jerked in surprise, and lost the spear. He cursed under his breath as it started to drop, and reached to catch it. His eyes went wide as he lost his balance, his fingers scrabbling at the stone. Evelyn watched in horror as he toppled backward out the window.

«
^
»

With
a cry, Evelyn threw herself over the ledge, reaching for Archer as he fell. Her lower body caught at the sill, as her fingers grasped the hem of his trous. Her fingers closed in a fist, and her arm took the full weight of his body as it slammed into the side of the Keep.

They froze for a moment, Archer swinging upside down, his trous pulled tight. Evelyn drew a breath, preparing a spell to lift him, when her shoulder gave. She heard the sound, like a cork coming out of a bottle, then white-hot pain swept over her.

Unable to think, unable to focus, all she could do was clench her fist tighter in the cloth of Archer’s trous. She reached with her good arm, to try to pull him up. But she felt herself slipping.

Lost in a cloud of pain, Evelyn felt someone’s hands on her legs. She concentrated on breathing, then opened her eyes. Archer was dangling below her, his head curled up, his eyes wide with fright.

His trous slipped in her grasp as her fingers went numb. Archer twisted then, trying to reach up to grab her arm. The movement made her gasp as her shoulder screamed in protest, the muscles tearing. She panted, blinking to keep the tears out of her eyes.

Firm hands locked on her waistband, but made no effort to pull. Instead, the rope dangled down, brushing her cheek.

Archer wrapped his hand around it and took hold, just as the fabric of his trous slipped from her fingers. Evelyn closed her eyes and moaned as the weight came off her shoulder.

“Lady?” Archer’s voice was soft as he hung below her.

“Climb.” Blackhart’s voice floated out to them. “We’ve got her.”

Archer gave her a worried look, then headed up the rope.

Something tugged her tunic at the shoulders, and Evelyn felt herself lifted and pulled back into the privy. Sidian had her, and lowered her to Blackhart’s waiting arms.

She bit her lip, tasting blood, as he lowered her to the seat. No noise, she mustn’t make any noise.

“Shoulder out of joint?” Blackhart whispered.

Evelyn nodded, bracing her arm with the other.

“Can you heal it?”

Evelyn shook her head. “Has . . . to be . . . put in place. Pain. I can’t—”

“Ease her forward,” Sidian said.

A moan escaped her as they shifted her. Evelyn let her head fall onto Blackhart’s shoulder, resting it there. The agony was intense, and she shivered, helpless.

Sidian eased in behind her on the seat, and wrapped his arms around her, one over the good shoulder, the other around her waist. He tugged her back so that she was upright, held tight to his chest.

Blackhart took her elbow in one hand, bracing the other on her collarbone. He leaned close to her. “Evelyn,” he said softly.

Evelyn struggled to lift her head, to focus on his face. He stood there patiently, his hazel eyes meeting hers. He had a wry look on his face, and she frowned, giving him a questioning look.

He shrugged. “Seems I’m always hurting you, Lady High Priestess.”

She shook her head. “No, Orrin.” She drew in a shaky breath. “That’s not—”

Blackhart yanked on her arm, giving it a sharp twist. With a click, the joint slid back into place.

Agony flared. Her vision went black, bringing a blessed absence of pain and consciousness. For long, sweet moments, she floated in bliss, painfree.

“Evelyn,” a voice demanded.

The voice would hurt her, pull her back to the pain, and she honestly wasn’t interested.

“Priestess,” the voice demanded again, urgent and loud.

There was a thump of a heartbeat in her ear, and a pounding on a door, and Evelyn was fairly sure she’d slept past the dawn services. Wouldn’t she be in trouble? But just a few more minutes . . .

“Wake up, Evie.” The voice sounded strained now. Pity, really. As much as she loved serving the Lord of Light, there were just some mornings when you wanted to sleep in—

Someone slapped her cheek. “Now, Evelyn.”

Blackhart. She smiled then. Cradled in his arms, no doubt— alone, just the two of them in the . . . privy.

Her eyes flew open.

Sidian was close to her, his dark black face gleaming with sweat. He smiled when he saw that she was awake. “Heal yourself, Priestess.”

“I can’t,” Evelyn said. The joint was back in place, but the arm was stiff and sore. “The odium . . . they’ll find—”

“They already have,” Blackhart growled.

Evelyn blinked, confused, until she realized that the pounding was coming from the door of the privy. Blackhart was braced, holding the handle, watching the bolt strain, his sword out before him. Something was trying to get in.

“Heal yourself, and we’ll get out of here,” Sidian said, tying his bundle of armor to the rope. His arms were still greased, his chest bare. “There’s not much time.”

“You can’t climb a rope hurt,” Blackhart added. His voice softened. “Focus, Evie. There’s just us, in this moment. Take a breath and focus.”

Evelyn looked at him, at the worry in those hazel eyes. She put her hand under her tunic, feeling the heat of the abused muscles. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and prayed. “Hail, gracious Lord of the Sun and Sky, Giver of Light and Granter of Health, I ask . . .”

The tingle flooded her shoulder like warm sun on a cold day, easing the burn of the muscles and repairing the tears. She rarely needed to work a healing on herself, and the way her powers felt as they worked always surprised her.

The pounding on the door doubled, and Blackhart gripped the handle with a grunt. The bolt was bending, the pressure on it growing. Evelyn stood then, climbing onto the seat, her arm restored.

Sidian was in front of the window, lifting his bundle out the window so it could be pulled up. He gave her a glance. “Me first.”

Evelyn nodded.

The big man turned, easing his shoulders and chest through the hole. It was a tight fit. He backed up and tried again, one hand wound around in the rope, the other pressed against the stones of the wall as he blew out a breath, and scraped through. Once his chest was free, he easily pulled himself up.

Evelyn looked back at Blackhart, still holding the door closed.

Blackhart
glared at Evelyn. The door was going to give at any moment. But the stubborn woman ignored him, staring at the door.

“Move,” he growled, as the door moved outward. He sheathed his sword, and pulled on the handle with both hands, forcing the door back into its frame.

“No,” came her response. She stepped down and moved to the side, pressed against the wall. “How will you—”

“Go.” Blackhart braced himself as the door shuddered.

“What’s a bit more magic?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to snarl at her, but the door was pulled again, almost yanking the handle from his hand. The odium wedged their gray fingers in the gap.

Evie’s eyes got that unfocused look as she concentrated, looking through the gap at a spot in the corridor, crying out, summoning the fire.

He felt it first through the door, as the wood grew hot beneath his body. Then heat and the smell of smoldering wood washed over him through the crack. The door slammed closed, and they both froze, looking at one another.

Blackhart nodded toward the window.

Evelyn leaned forward and kissed him, her warm lips pressed to his.

Blackhart jerked his head back in surprise, but she was already scrambling for the seat, climbing up, reaching out for the rope and pulling it close. She stood in the window, gave him a glance, then started climbing, using both hands and feet.

Blackhart waited as her feet disappeared, waited for the assault on the door to begin again. But there was only silence, and the smell of burning flesh.

He leaped up on the seat, and wasted no time climbing the rope.

Sidian
was leaning out, watching for her. He grinned at her, reaching down to grab her tunic and haul her in the last few feet.

“Another privy,” Evelyn observed as she climbed in. Archer was pressed to the wall, as if to keep track of it. Evelyn gave him a guilty look. “Archer, I’m sorry. I—”

“Moved fast enough to save my life,” Archer whispered. “I owe you, Lady High Priestess. My own fault for being stupid.”

“You just figuring that out?” Blackhart snarled as he climbed in the window.

They all shifted around, making room as best they could. Sidian made a face as he put his armor back on, ignoring the grease. Reader was at the door, listening.

Blackhart hauled the rope up behind him. “We need to move.”

“Where are we?” Evelyn asked softly.

“Priest’s quarters, behind the Lady’s shrine,” Sidian answered. “There’s a bedroom and a sitting room beyond, then two doors. One leads to the shrine; the other, to the servants’ hall.”

“Let me guess,” Evelyn said. “You looted that as well.”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘looted,’ so much as ‘stole,’ ” Archer whispered. His eyes were still wide, and he was breathing hard, but he got the words out.

“Through the door to the hall, then two doors to the left,” Blackhart said.

The others nodded, then Reader opened the door.

The room was clear. Evelyn had a brief glimpse of a bed and mattress overturned, and chests and wardrobes pulled open, as they moved across the room, intent on their goal.

Reader listened briefly, then opened the door. They spilled through the door, into the shrine. Or what was left of it.

Evelyn drew in a breath at the battered walls and torn tapestries. Gold stars painted on the ceiling still glimmered in the soft light. But the reflecting pool in the center of the room was filled with dark water, scum floating on the surface.

They moved around the pool, through the wreckage of smashed benches and chairs. There was something dark smeared on the walls, marring the pictures of the Lady of Laughter.

“Dorne is going to have your balls,” Blackhart said.

“Ain’t lookin’ forward to cleaning this up,” Archer mumbled.

Reader was at the door, and they formed up around him, at the ready. He paused, then produced the key in his hand, and knelt to unlock it. “Can’t hear a thing,” he whispered. “But that don’t mean—”

The door exploded into pieces, and the odium were on them.

Reader was thrown back onto the floor. Timothy and Thomas surged forward with their spears. Sidian stepped around Evelyn, using his mace to crack odium heads. Evelyn watched, trying to calm her breathing, ready to cast if necessary.

Then Thomas jerked back with a cry. One of the odium had plunged a dagger into his chest.

“Weapons!” Sidian cried out a warning as he stepped over the fallen man. Thomas dragged himself backward on the floor, the weapon still lodged in his chest. Mage reached down and dragged him clear, toward Evelyn.

She ignored the sounds of the fighting as she dropped to her knees. The dagger was high in the chest. There was little bleeding, but the dagger quivered with the beating of his heart. Thomas’s eyes were wide, and his breathing shallow.

Archer was at the doorway. He’d picked up Thomas’s spear and was using it to hold the monsters at bay as Sidian wielded his mace and shield.

“Hold them,” Blackhart snarled.

Timothy grunted. Sidian brought his shield to bear, and with Archer’s help they started to press the odium back. Mage had the edge of the door, ready to close it.

Evelyn was so intent on the man before her, she almost missed the faint splash behind her.

Odium were coming out of the pool.

Blackhart heard it, too, and whirled about to face the new threat. He stepped in front of her, pulling his blade. “Behind us,” he cried.